Read Online Hot Mess by Anne Conley - Free Book Online

could do this. Taking a deep breath, she told herself again, she could do this.
    "Okay. Tell me about your job. You're a firefighter?" She had seen his picture in the newspaper saving the dog, and if she could admit it to herself, the picture had done something to her. The picture showed Sam leaving a home, flames as a backdrop, wearing his gear. He cradled a small dog in one arm, while the other arm was removing his face mask. His eyes were downcast, looking at the animal with an expression filled with compassion.
    "Yes. I've been there about three weeks, and it's been…interesting."
    "Is it stressful?"
    "It can be. Luckily, it's mostly responding to fender benders, elderly people who've fallen and have attack Chihuahuas guarding them, stuff like that." He made it sound like it was no big deal.
    "How long have you done it? Firefighting?"
    "Eleven years. I worked in Jacksonville before we moved here."
    She liked asking him questions. There was a hypnotic quality to his voice that she could listen to all day. "What do you guys do, when you're not out on a call?"
    He leaned back, getting more comfortable. "Read, play pool, cards, eat, work out, watch TV."
    "You read?" She asked it a little louder than she meant to.
    "Is that hard to believe?"
    "No. Just curious."
    "Yes, I read." He sounded a little indignant, and it made Rachel smile. Before she could respond to his statement, the girls came into the room.
    "Mom?"
    "Yes, Sweetie?"
    "Can we go get something from Amanda's house? We'll be right back." Sophia's eyes were wide and pleading.
    "Sure you can." The girls turned to each other with knowing grins that made Rachel slightly uneasy, but before she could question them further, they were gone. She sighed to herself in resignation. Whatever.
    Turning back to the bundle of sex appeal in the chair across from her, "What do you like to read?"
    "Clive Cussler, John Grisham, Michael Crichton, action and suspense mostly. Do you read?"
    "Yeah. I read chick stuff, Amy Tan, Lisa See, Stephanie Plum. I hate Cussler."
    He looked affronted. "Why would you hate Cussler?"
    Now it was her turn to be indignant. "He's sexist."
    "Not since the big PC revolution. His sexist stuff is mostly in his older novels. He's no different from Ian Fleming."
    "I don't read him either." She turned her body slightly, nose in the air. She really hoped he realized she was messing with him, so she tried to add a teasing note to her voice. Could this be considered flirting?
    "But you watch the movies?"
    "Well, who doesn't?"
    Sam chuckled, and tingles went up Rachel's spine at the sound.
    "Yeah, I know. It's a double-standard. But it's hard to not watch James Bond. He's everywhere. And Daniel Craig is beautiful."
    His chuckle turned to a full on laugh, and Rachel had a little trouble breathing for a minute. The carefree transformation of his face was stunning. Daniel Craig had nothing on this guy sitting in her tiny living room, who had just kissed her into oblivion.
    To distract herself, she asked him, "So, what kind of movies do you like?"
    Sam opened his mouth to answer, but the sounds of the door slamming and small feet interrupted him. Sophia and Amanda came into the room, hands behind their backs.
    "Dad! We have a surprise for you," Amanda said.
    "Yeah, you too, Mom," Sophia chimed in.
    "What?" Sam and Rachel asked in unison, before looking at each other with grins on their faces. These girls were definitely up to something.
    "Come into Sophie's room." Amanda had grabbed Sam's hand with one of hers and was tugging him out of his chair.
    "Alright…" He muttered.
    "You too, Mom. Come on." Sophia waved to Rachel, who followed the trio down the hallway to her daughter's room.
    The girls had set up the Wii with one of the dancing games on it and gone across the street, apparently to get more remotes, so they could all four play together. Or dance together, as was the case in this game.
    "I don't know, sweetie. This may not be Mr. Owens' thing. We don't want to put